CHAPTER SEVEN

 

 

“ONE OF THE Judges got the house on Prospect,” Niño Aukins told Mister Romley. “Arrested all four of our people there. Minor wounds only. And they’re talking.”

Romley’s voice on the phone sounded calm. “How did the Judge find them? Someone else talk?”

“I don’t think so,” Niño said. “We couldn’t track them too closely. Well, you know what it’s like out there, all them wide streets. That’s why we had the place there, to make it harder for the cops to tail us without us seeing them. But near as we can figure, the Judge—Santana, his name is—just picked the house pretty much at random. See, they can just enter a house for no reason and—”

“They don’t need probable cause,” Romley said. “I know that. What did they get?”

“All of our product destined for the north. That’s thirteen hundred units. Twenty-five bucks a pop, that’s thirty-two grand.”

“I do know how to multiply, Niño. Where are you at the moment?”

Niño looked around the small diner. It was almost empty, with only one other customer tucked away in the opposite corner. He liked this place, but not enough to die in it. And he certainly didn’t want Mister Romley’s people shooting the place up as a warning. But you didn’t lie to Mister Romley. If Mister Romley thought you were lying to him, he went very quiet and still, so still that you could almost imagine the air itself thinking, Aw crap. Bad stuff is going to happen. Niño took a breath to steady his nerves, then said, “I’m at Florentino’s, Mister Romley.”

“Order me a peppermint tea, would you? I’m about three minutes away. I think we need to talk strategy.”

“Sure, yeah,” Niño said. “See you in a few minutes.” He ended the call and stared at the cell phone.

He’s coming here. In public, in daylight. That means he’s... what does it mean? That I’m safe? If he’s planning to sacrifice me to the Judges, then he’s not going to incriminate himself by being seen with me in public. That’s got to be it. Sure. If he wanted me dead, I’d be dead already.

Niño lifted his head and glanced towards the counter. “Norma? Can I get a peppermint tea?”

The waitress looked at him as though he had just ordered a carriage-clock on toast. “What?”

“Peppermint tea. You’ve got peppermint tea, right?”

She chewed thoughtfully on her gum. “Yeah, we got it. Can’t remember the last time anyone ordered it, though. You never have. You sure that’s what you want?”

Niño almost told her that no, what he really wanted was to slink back home and take another hit. He didn’t normally shoot up twice in the day, but this morning’s shot was wearing off. He could feel himself starting to fray at the edges, and the real world was beginning to creep in. Heroin was his force field, his cosy, invisible bubble that no one else even knew existed. But it didn’t last forever, and without it he felt exposed and uncertain. It was a harsh world filled with sharp edges and strident noises and people with grubby hands and lines of moist, dark crud under their chipped fingernails, and when they parted their too-wet lips to smile, you could see broken brown-and-black teeth for a second before their garlic breath washed over you and forced you to flinch and turn away. Every surface was cracked, or stained, or sticky. There was dust accumulating in the corners, and cobwebs in the shadows, and spiders on the edge of your vision and other things, too, that scuttled away a moment before you looked at them.

And there were memories, dark memories that just wouldn’t stay hidden, and they were starting to bump up against the edges of his consciousness like bloated bodies rising through the mire and breaking the surface, moonlight glistening on their scarred, seeping backs, slashed with knife wounds that parted like mouths on the edge of a scream, and their words were blood and betrayal and death and decay—

Niño realised what he was doing and sat bolt upright. Not now! Keep it together! He took several deep breaths: in-out, in-out, in-out. Stay focussed—if he sees you coming apart he’s going to figure it out. If he does that, you’re dead.

“You all right, Niño?” Norma asked.

He forced a smile. “Sure, yeah. Sorry. Accidentally bit my tongue.”

“Oh, yeah. There’s nothing worse, right?”

“Absolutely,” Niño said, still smiling. “Nothing worse than that.”